


The Black Blade

by whitewolfandthefox



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Dark, Amnesia, Assassination, Assassination Attempt(s), Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Character Death, Dark, Dark Magic, F/M, Gen, Injury, Injury Recovery, Insanity, Major Character Injury, Mass Death, Minor Character Death, Orphans, Past Torture, Poisoning, Psychological Torture, Sensory Deprivation, Sensory Overload, Slaughter, Swearing, Temporary Amnesia, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24816790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitewolfandthefox/pseuds/whitewolfandthefox
Summary: The Witchers of Kaer Morhen have a closely guarded secret; terrible information that, if placed in the wrong hands, could destroy mankind. There were no female Witchers, not because they were unable to become monster hunters, but because they became the monsters themselves.
Relationships: Eskel (The Witcher) & Original Female Character(s), Eskel (The Witcher)/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s), Lambert (The Witcher)/Original Character(s), Vesemir (The Witcher) & Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 21





	1. The Peace Is Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villagers are being attacked by vicious monsters, the likes of which have never seen before. Rumours of these strange creatures get back to the Witchers of Kaer Morhen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my new series! This is a female Witcher centred story based on my OFC, who will be introduced soon. I hope you all enjoy!

Villagers scream as the yellow-eyed monster stalk towards them, claws lashing out to rip stragglers apart as. There were rumours going around of terrible monsters that slaughtered entire towns, but they paid them no mind; chalking the tales up to exactly that: fairy tales. But in this case, they didn’t stay a fairytale; the monster terrorizing their town was very real.

The wind whips around their ankles as they run, a maelstrom of chaos descending on the village. The creature is taller than a horse, thick scaled legs ended in sharp claws, atop a broad torso, covered with iridescent green scales. The beast releases an earth-shaking roar, revealing a mouth filled with cutting teeth. It rears back onto its hind legs, claws ripping a house apart, sending bricks and wood beams flying through the air. The villagers duck under the falling debris, scrambling to leave the town. Coming back to four legs, the creature turns its piercing eyes on a small family of four cowering beneath a hay cart.

A low growl rumbles out of its chest as it stalks towards them, screams rising from the children at the sight of it. A claw snags the cart, sending it flying to shatter against the brick wall of a nearby house; wood shards and hay raining down on nearby villagers. The father shakily raises a sword, trying to buy as much time as possible for his family to escape. His wife pushes the children in front of her, tears streaming down her face, as she glances back at her husband. One of the children fall, a cry ripping from her lips as her hands and knees tear against the ground.

The shrill sound draws the attention of the beast, its yellow eyes locking onto the weaker prey. It steps towards the girl, the father screaming as he hacks at the monster’s leg, blade bouncing off the scales as sparks flew. It glances down before lashing out with a leg, sending the man flying against a wall, falling to lie at its base. A heart wrenching scream bursts out of the woman at the sight of blood pooling beneath her husband. She turns, grabbing the young girl and shoving her towards her brother. The children scramble towards safety, the other adults from their village beckoning them from the tree line. 

The creature pounces, scales glistening in the sun as it flies through the air, knocking the woman flat as she screams. It closes its mouth on her neck, shaking its head to release a deafening crack. The woman’s screams are cut off as she goes limp beneath the creature, head falling at an awkward angle as the beast lifts its own. The children scream, running towards the forest leaving their parents behind. One brave villager darts out of the trees as the monster scents the air, tongue flicking out of its mouth to taste the fear thick in the village.

Its muscles coil once more, preparing to pounce before it freezes, eyes fixing on the children. The monster shrinks to reveal a lithe form; yellow eyes apparent in a gaunt face, body covered in armour. The woman clutches her forehead and staggers, eyes closing as her face scrunches in pain. She gestures sharply, a portal appearing to shimmer in the air beside her. She glances at the villagers once more before turning and walking through, the circle collapsing behind her. Slowly, the people trickle out, taking in the death and destruction left behind, as wails filled the air.

**~*~*~*~**

The market was packed with crowds of people, all out to celebrate the harvest; friends greeting each other with exclamations of welcome. No one pays any mind to the cloaked figure slipping through their midst. They make their way to the side of the clearing, dropping the cloak from their shoulders to reveal a dark haired beauty, golden eyes set in her face. Two swords were sheathed on her back, a steel and a silver blade. She slowly reaches up, unsheathing the steel sword as she lowers her arm, gripping the hilt tightly.

She observes the crowd, yellow eyes dulling as her face goes blank. Her head tilts to the side, eyes closing as she listens to the sounds of the market. A snarl slowly appears on her face, feet moving into a fighting stance. She strikes quickly, sword slicing down one villager’s back, the body not even on the ground before she skewers another on her blade. It isn’t long after that the screaming started.

A low growl rumbles out of her chest as a vicious grin appears on her face. The woman dances through the crowd, a cloud of blood surrounding her as she slaughters the defenceless. As a space clears around her, bodies and injured people moaning on the ground, a line of men with swords appear in front of her. The leader steps forward, sword raised in threat. “Throw down your weapon, demon, and we will kill you quickly. This is your only warning.”

She regards them, head tilting to the side as if she was listening to something. The men shift nervously at her lack of response, the silence broken by the groans of the injured and dying. A blank look comes over her face before her whole body shudders, swords dropping from numb fingertips. A low murmur swept over the clearing as she falls forward, feathered wings sprouting from her back as her limbs elongate, fur taking the place of skin. 

Screams ring through the air as the town descends into panic, people scrambling to get away from the Griffin that now sits in the middle of the square. The beast flares its wings as a screech erupts from its beak. It pounces on the line of men, claws digging into flesh as it rips limbs and severs arteries, blood pooling around the creature and staining its fur. The guards break, scattering under the ferocity of the attack. The Griffin follows them, beak dark with blood, as it tears into the villagers, death and destruction left in its path.

It pounces once more, grabbing a young woman in its claws before taking to the air, the girl screaming in its grasp as she is lifted above the roofs. The Griffin soars, the woman going limp as she is shaken, claws piercing deep into her skin. It swoops low over the town, her body falling from its grasp to land splayed on the ground, eyes glassy in death. The creature lands on a house, claws tearing into the roof as it rips its way through the structure. The people inside are revealed, the Griffin on them like a rat terrier tearing up a nest. 

The screams are quickly silenced as the creature crows in triumph, turning its attention to the rest of the villagers scrambling away from the town square. The beast soars through the air again, diving to pick off any unfortunate stragglers that are within easy grasp. The town is quickly overrun with rivulets of blood staining the cobblestone streets. It’s a massacre, bodies collapsed in piles along the roads, the groans of the injured mixing with the wails of those who lost loved ones. 

The Griffin finally settles to the ground, it’s claws stained crimson. It’s form wavers, edges shimmering before the creature shrinks. The woman from before staggers slightly before she regains her balance. She spins in a slow circle, taking in the destruction and havoc she has wreaked on the town. With a sharp nod, she turns on her heel as a shimmering circle opens, the portal transporting her far from the graveyard the town became. 

**~*~*~*~**

There had been various attacks all over, slowly moving closer to larger cities. The entire continent is on edge, no one knowing where or when the next attack will fall. It is always one attacker, a woman who can change her shape at will. Ransoms are offered for information on the attacks; is it just one woman who could change her shape or are there multiple?

Rumours about Witchers start to circulate with more fervour. While the normal villager did not fear Witchers, the stories being told are starting to change. They are demons in human form, mutants intent on destroying the human race. The females of their kind are roaming around and attacking towns, so as to lower their guards for the males; they would lure you in, with the promise of getting rid of your monsters, and then kill you and leave your body in the streets. The monsters that the Witchers claim to have killed aren’t really dead, they were just magical constructs, to lure the villagers into a sense of false security, so they could attack with no warning. Witchers don’t have souls, as prefaced by their yellow eyes, which lets them shapeshift when they want. The females are the attack hounds; if a village scorned a Witcher, they release them upon their people to destroy everything and everyone there. 

Some towns are desperate for them; offering exorbitant amounts of money for the Witchers to stay nearby, in case of an attack. Others are even more fearful than before, cowering behind walls when they pass. Most of the villages they encountered are the latter: terrified of the demons with yellow eyes. Quite often the village turn them away with stones and swords, no explanation offered. Eskel and Geralt are travelling together, having met up in Temeria, when they joined forces to take on a more difficult job.

“This is weird, Geralt. No one seems to want to hire us lately, Davethia’s been missing, and there’s tales of ‘yellow-eyed demons’ going around. I’m half tempted to find a Xenovox to get in contact with Vesemir. he’s got to know what’s going on.” Eskel is worried. Everything seems to have gone to shit this year, contracts drying up, and there are rumours of new ‘demons’ spreading like wildfire through the continent. Word has it Witchers are to blame.

Geralt hums in response, poking at the fire in thought. “Vesemir’s been busy lately, Leto hasn’t shown up the last few winters and he’s worried about her. She’s missed wintering in Kaer Morhen before, but not this many in a row. He thinks something might have happened to her, might not be watching what’s happening in the world.”

“I know, but he’s got to know something about what’s happening. What’s with the shape shifting monsters people are talking about? I can’t think of any creature that can do that, and no mage has enough energy to sustain a construct of that size and do damage like what’s been done to that village.” Eskel had stumbled onto a burned out village a few weeks in search of Davethia, having heard a rumour about a Witcher of her description being in the area. He hadn’t found her, only finding a massacred town; the air filled with the scent of blood and death, the underlying scent of a monster weaving through it. He thought he had smelled the cedar indicative of another Witcher, but the scent had been off.

“I don’t know, Eskel.” Geralt sighs, rubbing at the tension in his temples. “But it’s almost the end of the season, maybe we just head back to Kaer Morhen now and find out what’s been going on lately.”

The black-haired Witcher grudgingly agrees. Their last contract paid well and it doesn’t look like they are going to find any more, with the way villagers have been acting. The two men stay in the clearing for the night before packing up and heading north, making their way back home.

**~*~*~*~**

“And you’re sure you can keep our village safe, Witcher? This is a lot of coin we are offering you.” Ehlad sighs at the accusatory tone of the alderman. The man had all but pounced on him when he realized there was a Witcher in town and had insisted they talk business. Ehlad had planned on stopping only long enough to replenish his supplies, but the reward he offered was too much to pass up.

“I take payment after the job, Alderman. If I don’t kill the creature, I won’t be around to claim it.” The other man blanches at the idea of a Witcher being defeated, realizing what it meant for his town. “But I can only stay for the two weeks, any longer and I won’t be able to make it back to my shelter for winter.”

“Yes, yes,” the man waves dismissively. “After that it should be too cold for the demons to attack, and you will be free to go. You’ll get the money at the end of the two weeks, and if you can keep the damage to our buildings to a minimum, there may be a little extra for you at the end.”

Ehlad shakes the offered hand, pretending not to notice the poorly hidden look of revulsion the alderman had at touching a Witcher. He leaves the building and collects his horse, Pecos, heading to make camp in the woods just outside of town. He anticipates an easy two weeks, running through a list of potions he needs to replenish in his head. He could do them at Kaer Morhen over winter, but if he has the downtime, he might as well do it now and get paid for it.

The first week passes quickly and without complication, Ehlad spending some time wandering the town and examining its defences. The town itself isn’t bad, but the layout is chaotic and would be difficult for people to escape, depending on the monster that is attacking. He runs through a list of creatures, trying to decide which is most likely to be this ‘yellow-eyed demon’ that the humans are talking about. None jump to the forefront of his mind, so he just has to be prepared for anything.

He is surprised when the attack comes; not many creatures are bold enough to descend on a village in broad daylight. Ehlad is out in the forest, when his enhanced hearing picks up the screams. He runs towards the town, thankful he is wearing his additional weapons on his person, along with his armour. When he reaches the village, he freezes at the sight, mind unable to process what he is seeing. A great reptilian monster has a villager trapped beneath its claws, its victim screaming before being cut off as the monster closes its maw around their head.

The species of creature attacking is so odd, he has to stop and stare for a short time, to convince himself that what he is seeing is true.  _ A Lagroth? Of all the monsters I’d thought of, that one didn’t even come to mind _ . The beast runs towards him on four legs; short legs supporting a long scaled torso that ends in a powerful tail. He will have to be careful of that, the muscles in the tail were strong enough to send him flying, if he gets hit. Its long reptilian snout is open in a snarl, revealing a mouth full of sharp teeth. Its claws knead the dirt, sharp razor blades ready to tear. 

Just as the humans have been saying, its eyes are yellow, completely different from the normal green. Reaching behind him, Ehlad withdraws a silver chain from the back of his belt, letting one end fall to the ground. He swings the chain back and forth, eyes fixed on the creature as it charges at him, bloodstained teeth clear as it roars. He ducks to the side, allowing the momentum of the chain to wrap around the Lagroth’s snout, hoping the silver chain will help incapacitate the creature. To his dismay, the weapon seems to only aggravate the Lagroth, no burning smell to indicate the silver is working. 

_ What the fuck? _ Ehlad has to leap to the side, chain dropping from his fingers as the beast snaps at him, razor sharp teeth closing just centimeters from his arm. _ Why didn’t the silver affect it? _ Scenting the air, rust fills his nose. The Witcher sneezed at the scent of fear in the air. Another smell filters underneath it, familiar, but not enough that Ehlad can place it.

The thoughts are torn from his mind as the creature advances, a low growl rumbling out of its chest. The yellow eyes fix unerringly on him as the Lagroth shudders, the edges of its form blurring before the body shrinks, an Alp forming in its place. Ehlad freezes in shock, his mind warring with what he knows and what he just saw.  _ What the hell was that? _

He doesn’t get a chance to ponder, as the Alp darts towards him, clawed hand raised to slash. He ducks out of the way, throwing up a Quen sign as the Alp screams; the soundwaves incapacitating the villages caught in its blast. He shakes himself before casting an Aard, the beast stumbling at the blast. He draws his silver sword and advances, slashing at the Alp as it ducks under its blade. The monster reels, panic blooming on its face, before it leaps away, scrambling up the side of a house to perch on the roof. Ehlad is about to follow it, when the Alp’s lines blurr again and a familiar figure appears in its place.

“Nasitti?” The Witcher is stunned to see his sister sitting there and observing him with a blank look on her face. The female Witcher is clothed in typical armour, a steel and silver sword visible in sheaths on her back. Her leather armour looks worn, scratches and gouges apparent in the material, having been put to good use. Her hands are bare, pale skin covered in the blood of her previous victims. 

Ehlad had grown up with the woman sitting on the roof, she had been one of the initiates that had gone through the trials with him. The female Witcher slowly rises to a standing position, a blank look on her face as she observes him. The smell from before comes rushing back; cedar, the signature scent of a Wolf School Witcher, along with Nasitti’s own grapefruit and rose. It is different though, as if her scent has gone rotten; rotting cedar and dying roses streaked with bitter grapefruit.  _ What had happened to her? _

“What the hell is this, Nasitti? What are you doing?” She doesn’t answer, his harsh tone having no effect on her. She steps toward the edge of the roof, leaping off and landing in a shoulder roll. Her own sword seems to leap from its sheath to her hand. Ehlad struggles to get his blade up in time, forcing hers to the side. The impact rattles up his arm and into his shoulder, immense strength behind the blow. 

“Nasitti, stop!” He ducks away, not wanting to engage his sister, as panic bubbles into his chest. He doesn’t have a choice though, catching an overhead blow against his sword, and pushing back against her , until they are at a standstill. They are matched fairly evenly in strength, neither Witcher able to gain the upper hand. He stares at her, fear and desperation slowly rising in his chest, as he searches for the woman he had gone through the trials with, but can’t find her. 

They had been in the same room during the Trial of the Grasses, had latched pinkies together as they fought to live through the mutations. That woman was gone, a shell of the Witcher she had been. The hand that he had grasped for dear life, the hand that had acted as his anchor, to save him during the trials, is now the hand that is trying to kill him. There is no life behind her eyes, a blank expression is all Ehlad could get from her. Something bad had happened to Nasitti, and he needed to get her help. That meant surviving this fight. He lets her push him back, bending towards the ground as his foot comes up to slam into her stomach; the sound of air rushing out of her lungs accompanying the blow.

He doesn’t wait for her to recover, driving towards her as he tries to keep her off balance. Ehlad needs to get her to a large space, she is too good at fighting in narrow streets and knows that he will be on the back foot quickly enough. She hisses at him, seeming to understand what he is doing, but unable to catch her breath long enough to resist. Their battle consists mainly of Nasitti striking, while Ehlad parries, unwilling to hurt his sister. As they reach the edge of the town, the female Witcher makes one last effort, blade singing through the air, as she launches a series of lightning quick strikes. 

The male Witcher struggles to keep up, not fast enough to prevent shallow lacerations from appearing on his arms and legs. Nasitti’s nostrils flare, the copper scent of blood seemed to send her further into madness. It’s as if she needs to smell it, to taste it; her lips pull back from her teeth as she shrieks, the sound shrill and piercing to a Witcher’s sensitive ears. Ehlad staggers backwards, silver sword slipping from his fingers, as he instinctively covers his ears.

The other Witcher is on him in a flash, sword driving towards his left shoulder as he dodges out of the way, too late. The blade stabs clean through his armour, the point of the sword exiting just above his shoulder blade. Ehlad gasps as the pain hits him, hot and cold rushing through him, as the smell of his own blood fills his nose. He pulls himself backwards off of the blade, right hand reaching for his steel sword, as he groans low in his chest. 

Nasitti pauses to savour her victory, eyes closing as she inhales deeply; the copper scent of blood and the sharp vinegar scent of pain. Her distraction costs her. Ehlad has just enough time to draw his sword and attack. His blade drives through her stomach as she leaps to the side, the male Witcher predicting her actions after years spent sparring together. She gasps at the feeling of cold steel as her eyes come alive with betrayal.

“Ehlad,” she groans; her opponent is quick to pull his sword out as he reaches for her with his other hand. He inhales sharply at the sound of her voice; the familiar scent of roses and grapefruit filled his lungs, no longer rotten.

“Nasitti, please. Let me help you.” His voice is low, urgent as he pleads with his sister, desperate to make things better. Her eyes shoot to him, locking their gazes together, as her mouth works soundlessly. Pain filled her face, golden eyes fixed on him, as she takes one hesitant step towards him.

The expression drop from her face, before the female Witcher spins on her heel and gestures sharply, a portal open just long enough for her to leap through. Ehlad is left standing alone with his hand outstretched, the scent of rotting grapefruit and dead roses filling the air behind her.

**~*~*~*~*

Several hours later, a heavily bandaged Ehlad is riding as hard as he can, desperate to reach Kaer Morhen to deliver his information. Hot blood blooms under his bandages, as the harsh movements rip the stitches, but he pays it no mind. Something is happening to his sisters and he needs to find out what.

It is dark when he reaches the fortress, slumped in his saddle with exhaustion. Redrid, the training master, is waiting at the gate for him. He is ushered inside, an initiate taking his horse to be brushed and stabled; the poor animal exhausted from the rush across the land. He is taken into the great hall, where several of the senior Witchers are waiting. There are no female Witchers present.

Vesemir approaches him, worry clear on his face. “What’s happened, Ehlad? You tore up the Trail like there was a pack of Nekkers on your tail.”

The younger Witcher leans over, gasping as the room spins around him, blackness eating at the edges of his vision. Vesemir’s frown grows deeper, as he sees the bloodstained bandages, guiding the other man over to a bench and shoving him down onto it.

“Nasitti- Something’s wrong- attacked me- her eyes,” he can’t speak, panic clawing its way up his chest. “ _ Something has happened to our sisters. _ ”

Message delivered, his body goes limp as Ehlad keels over in a dead faint. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are much appreciated, let me know what you think of the concept! Or come yell at me on tumblr @whitewolfandthefox


	2. Have You Come to Kill Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tales of the yellow-eyed demons have made it back to Kaer Morhen, and the reality behind them are even more horrifying than anticipated. The council of Witchers have to come up with an answer to the rumours, but the apparent choice seems impossible to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will likely be posted weekly on Thursdays!

The Witchers stand scattered around the room, a bitter almond scent belaying the nervous tension in the air. They have all heard of the rumours about their sisters, each returning Witcher bringing a tale of their own. None of their sisters returned this winter, the past years bringing fewer until this year there are none. Ehlad had actually been attacked by one and collapsed after his race for safety and to pass on his message. He is recovering in the Sacred Pools of Healing and won’t be at the council, but Vesemir spoke to him and will stand in his place.

The Witcher in question is speaking with an agitated Eskel, their low voices incomprehensible beneath the murmurs in the room. The younger Witcher looks exhausted, having arrived with Geralt late last night, after Ehlad collapsed. The silver haired Witcher enters the room, and pauses for just a moment, as he searches for his travelling partner. He spots them and hurryies over to the pair; Vesemir’s frown only growing deeper at the new arrival’s words. 

The chatter in the room dies quickly as Redrid clears his throat, the grizzled training master quickly calling the council to attention. “As I’m sure you all have heard, there have been rumours of yellow-eyed demons spreading throughout the continent. We have no idea who or what is behind them, but there has been some disturbing news along with it. Rumour has it that it is our sisters who have been attacking the villages.”

A cacophony rises in the room, loud cursing and protests filling the space, as angry Witchers shout over each other at the insult made towards their family. Redrid holds his hands up, and raises his voice to try to be heard over the noise. No one pays him any attention, fists clenching as the anger grows and the sharp smell of citrus invades the room. Redrid waves his arms, shouting over the cacophony of noise. 

Vesemir steps forward and raises his fingers to his lips to let out a piercing whistle. The room falls silent as the closest Witchers rub at their ears, their enhanced hearing ringing from the sound. He glares at the room and watches as the men shuffle their feet nervously under the Chief of their school’s stare. “We’ve had eye witness accounts confirming that it is our sisters attacking the towns; Ehlad was hired to protect a village a day’s ride from here and was attacked by Nassiti while there. She had been in a monster form attacking the village, switching forms before he confronted her. She settled in her human form and attacked him, not recognizing him all the while. They injured each other before she portalled away, leaving Ehlad behind to come here.”

“Several of our brothers have also seen or heard of our sisters going mad,” Vesemir continues talking through the murmurs that arise at his words. “We don’t know what exactly is happening, but Eskel is willing to speak about his experience with Davethia. Eskel.”

He gestures at the scarred Witcher, stepping back to allow the younger to take his place. Geralt is quick to step up behind him, dropping a heavy hand onto his shoulder. Eskel opens his mouth to speak before his voice fails. He closes his mouth and swallows harshly before trying again. His eyes flicker up to the group in front of him before they look back to the floor.

“We always travelled together, we had an inn we would always meet up at at the beginning of the year. She… hadn’t wanted to spend the winters at home anymore, she said it always felt too constrictive to be stuck behind stone walls.” He takes a shuddering breath as Geralt squeezes his shoulder in support. “We still met up, although she was a couple of weeks late. She didn’t realize it and didn’t seem to care. We travelled together and took contracts like normal, but she felt different, smelled different.”

He hesitates briefly and glances back at Geralt who gives him a small nod, face pinched in sympathy. “She started changing into more and more creatures, she said it was easier to fight monsters that way. Whenever she changed back, she wouldn’t talk for a while, would just spend her time bathing and staring at her reflection, if there was a mirror.”

“One day, she just… left. No note, no goodbye, she was there in the evening and then just gone the next morning.” At this a sympathetic murmur went around the room, everyone knew that Davethia and Eskel have as close to a marriage as Witchers could get. 

“I didn’t see her for months after that, I’ve only seen her one time since, and she…” He trails off as he closes his eyes, his fist clenching before releasing, visibly trying to calm himself.

“She came to me one night, she was so confused. I was camping in the forest just outside of Kilani when she fell out of a portal. She had no memory of the last few months, she was hysterical. It was so unlike her, she’s always been so strong…” He falls silent, face whitening as he clenches his fist again, fighting with his emotions.

“I calmed her down, tried to get her to tell me what was wrong, but she just kept repeating the same thing over and over again.  _ It’s coming for me, it’s coming for me _ . That’s all she said, the entire night.” He breathes harshly as he struggles to calm himself. The Witchers shift amongst themselves, the sharp smell of burnt caramel worry filling the room as they listen to their brother’s pain.

“She was covered in blood when she found me, and by the smell of it, it was…” he chokes on his words as a tear streaks down his face, seeming as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “She was covered in human blood.”

The tense silence is broken at his words, not even Vesemir able to reign them in. The shouting continues for several minutes, the senior council giving up on gaining control of the room as they retreat to a corner, a harsh discussion held in quiet tones. Geralt draws Eskel to the side and wraps an arm around him to pull the shorter man’s head down to his shoulder. He supports his weight as he sags against him and leads him out of the room.

The door to the room flies open as Marcel rushes in, face pale and out of breath. All eyes turn to him, the room falling silent as they smell the sadness; the faint scent of anise drifting off of him, and bringing a sense of apprehension to the room. Vesemir steps forward, face full of apprehension as he asks the question no one wants to. “Ehlad?”

The healer shakes his head, his face falling as he speaks. “He didn’t make it. I don’t know what happened. One minute he seemed like he was getting stronger and the next he was paling as his wound ripped open again.”

“Did he say anything, were there any scents that might have given any clue as to what happened?” Vesemir’s tone is urgent, he needs to get any information about why Ehlad has died of non-fatal wounds.

Marcel seems to hesitate, a flash of doubt flickering over his face before he answers. “He was speaking gibberish, nothing he said made sense. He was talking about Nassiti? Saying that she died? He said something about a connection snapping, but as far as I knew they weren’t bonded.”

The other Witcher nods slowly, eyes clouded as he debates the answer. With an imperceptible shake, he forces himself out of his reverie as he turns to address the nearest group of Witchers. “You’ll set up a funeral pyre for Ehlad, we will honour his life tonight.”

They nod and hurry out of the room, quick to follow their chief’s orders. Vesemir turns to Marcel and nods again; the healer turning on his heel to head back to the labs to prepare the body for burning. The rest of the crowd shifts, restless energy emerging from the anger, sadness, and confusion that is felt by all. Vesemir sighs and drags a hand over his face as his posture sags. His voice is quiet when he speaks, tiredness seeming to emanate from his being. “Take some time to prepare for the funeral, Ehlad was a good man and we will do well to celebrate his memory.”

At his words the rest of the Witchers disperse, some going to spar, some to drink, some to study; anything to forget about the terrible tales that were spoken into life in that room.

**~*~*~*~**

Geralt leads the breaking man out of the room, trying to get him away from the rest of their brothers, before he breaks fully. The pair make it to an empty room before Eskel collapses, his legs giving out beneath him as he dissolves into sobs, the emotional barrier that he had built failing. Geralt goes with him; he presses Eskel’s forehead into his shoulder, wrapping his arms around him, and holding his friend as he goes to pieces. Eskel scrabbles against him, hands fisting into the silver haired Witcher’s shirt, as he clings to him and tries desperately to hold himself together.

“I just don’t understand, Geralt,” the dark haired Witcher’s voice breaks as he speaks, choking on his sobs. “What’s happening to her, to all of them? What’s happening to our sisters?”

The other man’s heart clenches at the broken tone. He twists his hand into Eskel’s hair as he tugs to try and ground him with the feeling. “I don’t know, brother, but we’ll figure it out.”

“I can’t feel her anymore, our bond is fraying. Every time I think I’m getting close, I’m wrong. I just find tales of death and destruction, like when I found that burned village.” His voice is shaking as he speaks, terror lacing his words. “What if it breaks? What if she dies, like what happened with Ehlad and Nassiti?”

Geralt hesitates, not wanting to confirm Eskel’s theory, but finding some truth behind it. Ehlad shouldn’t have died from his wounds, but if he did share a bond similar to Eskel and Davethia, her death might just have pushed him over the edge. He blanches as he thinks about that happening to Eskel, of losing his brother should anything go wrong.

He is distracted from his train of thought, head coming up as footsteps pass their room and they hear Vesemir’s voice in the hallway. “We have to find them, Natan, before any more of this gets out. But we don’t know how. Every time I try to find Leto, I come up empty.”

The voices fade away, as the small party moved out of earshot and their words became unintelligible. Eskel’s head slowly lifts from Geralt’s shoulder as his hand falls away from his hair. “I can find them.”

**~*~*~*~**

Vesemir leads the way into the room, the members of the senior council filing in behind him. They all move to their respective chairs, a somber silence falling over the space. Vesemir drops into his own, fatigue evident in every line of his body, head hanging low as he ponders the situation. “Marcel said that Ehlad called for Nassiti before he died. Said something about a connection snapping, that Nassiti died? Could there be more to the bonds that our Witchers have made than we know about?”

Natan, master of the keep, leans forward, a frown furrowing his brow. “There is a lot we don’t know about female Witchers, least of all about these bonds they make. They never happened before the experiments, so it must have something to do with them. Their powers are so different from ours, who are we to really know what is happening to them?”

Kamil, the Witcher in charge of initiates’ studies, nods in agreement. “We didn’t study them enough before we let them out on the path. Beyond their shapeshifting and chaos, we know nothing about female Witchers powers. They are more inclined to elemental magic, but are still capable of casting spells like any other sorceress. Maybe the trials weren’t successful, maybe they really did go mad and are doing these things the humans are claiming. How are we to know any different?”

“How indeed? I said from the beginning, a female’s no good to be a Witcher.” Redrid, the training master, scowls as he interjects. “I was always against these experiments, and now look where they’ve gotten us.”

“Watch yourself, Redrid, we had some very successful candidates from those trials, Leto being one of them.” Vesemir shifts at Alek’s mention of the name but stayed silent. The horse master has his own opinions on the matter. “She’s been around for over 50 years and has had no problems, and now every single female Witcher has gone mad at the same time? That seems a little bit suspicious to me.”

Emil has remained quiet throughout the debate, he speaks only when Vesemir prompts him to. “I think we need to talk to one of our sisters before we decide anything, only then will we actually know what’s going on.”

The Chief of the school nods at that, his face betraying none of his emotions. “The problem will be actually tracking one of them down. I haven’t heard from Leto in years, and from what our brothers have been saying they don’t want to be found. They’ve been wintering here less and less through the years, this has been a long time in the coming. But the bond is definitely a place to start, we will need to find someone who has a bonded pair already here, don’t want to have to go tracking another Witcher.”

He hasn’t finished his sentence when the door flies open, Eskel flying into the room with Geralt close behind him. The silver haired Witcher pauses at the door, expression shuttering underneath the combined stares of the senior council as his dark haired counterpart makes his way to stand next to Vesemir. The Chief merely looks up at him, an eyebrow arched in question.

“I can find her,” Eskel gasps out, breathing hard from evading Geralt through the halls. “Davethia, I mean, I can still feel my bond with her. I can find her and you can figure out what’s happened to her.”

Vesemir slowly rises and moves to stand toe to toe with the younger Witcher, reaching his hand to grasp his shoulder. “Are you sure, Eskel? You may not like what we find.”

Eskel swallows and nods harshly, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I have to know what’s happened, to help her if we can.”

Vesemir searches his face a moment longer before he steps back, letting his arm drop, turning to face the rest of the council. “Any objections?”

When only low grumbles and shaking heads answer his question, he claps his hands together and rubs them as he focuses his attention on Redrid. “I’ll need you to recommend the best Witchers for this, we need to bring Davethia in, not kill her. I want to take four plus myself and Eskel.”

He Ignores Eskel’s flinch as he turns to Natan. “Can you put together enough supplies for a group that size? Emil, once Redrid has the party, you’ll need to get their horses ready. Kamil, anything you can find about the experiments would be appreciated.”

With nods from the specific council members, Vesemir wraps an arm around Eskel’s shoulders and pulls him out of the room. Geralt trails close behind them as the rest of the members disperse to perform their respective tasks.

**~*~*~*~**

The fire is high, the flames throwing flickering shadows across the courtyard. The long silhouettes of the gathered Witchers are thrown stark against the cobblestone. They are gathered in circles around the funeral pyre, a somber silence broken only by the crackling of the flames as they climb higher. Sparks leap into the air, Ehlad’s body deep within the wood. They stand for hours, nothing breaking the silence; no Witcher dares to move until the flames are burnt low, embers glowing in the darkness.

It is only once the last flame has died that the Wolves move, a loud howl bursting from their throats as they cry their grief, the wolves in the mountains echoing their howl. The keep is full of noise that night, the grief apparent in the laughs as the Witchers from Ehlad’s year tell stories of their comrade, others who knew him joining in. Occasionally, there is a story about Nassiti, though they are few; no one wanted to believe that they had lost two siblings at the same time. Most of the men present hold out hope that their sister is still alive. 

There is a small party who does not partake in the celebration; six Witchers packing their bags with a heavy heart before they turn in for the night, planning to leave early the next morning. Geralt had all but bullied his way into the party, Redrid deciding it wasn’t worth the fight to say no to the silver haired Witcher. To round out their numbers Redrid has selected Jacek, a blonde haired master duelist, and his partner Tadeusz, a red haired tracker, two of the older Witchers who occasionally help teach the initiates sword play. They can be trusted to control their blades and not kill their target. Redrid decided he will also join the party, being the best swordsman in the keep. 

As much as he complains about females joining their ranks, he cares for every Witcher under his protection fiercely. If he can help heal the madness that has grasped their sisters, he will, for the sake of everyone who would suffer from their loss. It will tear the School of Wolf apart if they lose their sisters.

**~*~*~*~**

The party travels quickly and camps on the outskirts of town to avoid detection. With the rising tensions associated with the attacks on the villages and the threat of winter setting in, every member is anxious to see their task through to completion, Eskel more than the rest. A heavy silence settles over them, only brusque orders being delivered. 

It is two weeks of false trails and dead ends, Eskel’s bond becoming increasingly fractured the longer the hunt is prolonged. They finally catch up to Davethia in a rundown castle late at night; the king had abandoned it decades earlier when the fields stopped producing. The scent of rotting cedar fills the air, burnt sandalwood mixed with rotten lavender woven underneath. Eskel blanches at the smell, the blood draining from his face as he recognized the twisted scent that used to be Davethia’s.

The Witchers dismount and tie their horses’ reins high on their bridles so they won’t get caught if they need to run. They check each other’s armour, make sure all of the lashings are secure before they down a potion. As their eyes darken, they advance towards the castle, swords slithering out of their sheathes. The men freeze as a low growl bounces off the stone walls and echoes in the darkness that surrounded them.

Pupils dilated into slits, the Witchers prowl through the courtyard, silent footsteps not giving away their position. A high pitched laugh sounds through the silence, the Witchers turning back to back in response, flanks protected by the brother next to them as their swords are held out in front. The sharp sound of a sword dragging over stone echoes through the courtyard, setting each Witcher further on edge. Footsteps, normally silent, are heard approaching, but the bouncing sound makes it difficult to determine where it is coming from. The group maintain their position, cat eyes searching the darkness for any hint of movement.

A low laugh grates out of the darkness as yellow eyes appear in an entranceway, a feminine figure following quickly. Eskel cuts his gasp short as he sees her, all of the Witchers horrified at her appearance. The woman is wearing typical armour; a chainmail shirt hangs halfway down her thighs while a leather jerkin covers her torso, belted at the waist. A sword hilt can be seen peeking over her right shoulder, its twin held loosely in her right hand as it drags across the ground. Dried blood is splattered over her clothes, darker stains indicating multiple battles.

Her long blonde hair is braided away from her face, the ends bright red with blood. There is no expression on her face, eyes blank as she observes the group of six. Her head tilts as if she is listening to something, a brief expression flitting across her face, too fast to catch. The same low growl from earlier rumbles out of her chest as she fully enters the courtyard and stalks in a circle around the outside of the area.

Vesemir slowly raises his sword hand to sheath the blade before he steps forward, intentionally breaking the line of protection. He keeps his palms forward and hands low, the universal sign of peace. Davethia’s eyes lock onto him as he moves, the growl growing louder. When the Chief speaks, his voice is soft but insistent, trying to appeal to the more human side of his sister. “Davethia, why don’t you come home with us? I can see you’re tired and that you just want to rest; Eskel told us what happened and we just want to help.”

Her eyes flicker to her lover before they fix back onto Vesemir. Her tone is flat, no expression changing the inflection. “I don’t need any help.”

Eskel’s breath hitches as Davethia speaks, an aborted half step accompanying the sound. His voice breaks, tears clear in his rasping tone. “Davethia, please. You’re sick, you don’t remember what’s been happening. Let us help you, let me help you.”

Her face turns vicious at his words, venom almost dripping as she hisses back. “I’m not sick, Lover. I’ve never felt better in my life, everything has become clear.”

The male Witchers sense the shift in the atmosphere, gripping their sword hilts tighter in response. They exchange glances as Davethia comes to a halt, reaching her empty hand up to her second sword. She unsheathes the blade as she turns to face them, face hardening.

She spreads her arms wide, blades glistening in the moonlight at the motion. “I won’t come peacefully so you have two options. Either leave, or fight me.”

The men don’t move, apprehension building in their chests at her words. Vesemir tries once more, his tone pleading with Davethia to back down. “Davethia, please, we mean you no harm. We just want to help you, something has happened to you and your sisters. You need to come with us so we can find out how to heal you.”

“Heal me?” She scoffs. “Heal me? You believe something is wrong with me? We’ve never been good enough for you, never been good enough to be Witchers. Girls can’t be Witchers, that’s what they always said. You’ve never cared for us, never invested anything into our wellbeing. And now that we’ve finally found our true purpose, you decide you care about what is happening!”

Davethia stalks towards them, her blades trailing behind her on the ground, a raspy slither rising from the stone. The male Witchers spread out into a line, blades held in front of them as they back away. “I’ve finally learned, it’s not the creatures who are monsters, it’s the humans. They are monsters hiding in their skins, a plague on our world. They need to be eradicated, the blight of humanity dug out of the continent.”

She stops, swords coming up in front of her. “No, I don’t need to be healed, it’s you who can’t see. And if you can’t understand that, then you need to be killed.”

She shifts her weight onto the balls of her feet, a snarl covering her face as she growls. Eskel tries once more, “Davethia, please-”

He is cut off as she pounces, a shout leaving her throat as her blades flash through the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank for reading! Comments and kudos are much appreciated, and you are always welcome to come scream at me on tumblr @whitewolfandthefox


	3. A Tale of Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party of Witchers have found Davethia, but she is not willing to come peacefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next part! Apologies for the suuuuuper long update time, Google ate my shit and I had to spend weeks fighting to get it back. I'm also back at work full time and my shifts have landed directly in my prime creative time, so that's super unhelpful. Please see below for notes on a newish posting schedule.

Her shout is still ringing in the air as Davethia falls on Vesemir, the older Witcher ducking into a shoulder roll to avoid her blows as he comes to his feet, unsheathing his sword. Davethia turns her lunge into a side strike, sharp blade plunging through Tadeusz’s chest as he gasps. She jerks the sword out as the Witcher falls to his knees, blood trickling from his mouth before he collapses.

“Tadeusz!” Jacek’s voice rings out through the courtyard, devastation breaking his voice as he watches his lover crumple to the ground. Davethia doesn’t let him recover, her dual swords flashing through the air as she meets his own, a growl ripping its way out of her chest. Jacek meets her thrust for thrust, the blonde haired Witcher filled with rage at the loss of his partner. She spins away from him, meeting Redrid’s blades as the black haired man steps forward, Vesemir pulling Jacek away from the fight to calm him.

There is a flurry of blows exchanged, Redrid quickly giving way under the onslaught. He breaks away cursing at the slash he takes to his arm, Geralt stepping up to take his place. Davethia pauses briefly, twisting her wrist harshly before a gust of wind comes howling through the space, knocking the silver haired Witcher back. The wind picks up the debris from the courtyard, whipping it around the space as the Witchers are forced to take shelter. She stands in the middle of the maelstrom of wind, arms out to the side with her head tipped back, eyes closed as she savoures the chaos she started.

Eskel fights against the wind, struggling to his feet with his sword in hand. “Davethia!”

The strength of wind falters as she glances at him, giving the dark haired Witcher a chance to dart towards his lover, the other men struggling to their feet behind him. She slowly opens her eyes, fixing her glowing yellow orbs onto his black ones. He steps towards her slowly, watching as conflict rises in her face. “Love, please, let me take care of you. You know I won’t let anything happen to you, please Davethia.”

“Eskel, I-” she cuts herself off, tone soft. She stares at him, concern and some other dark emotion warring on her face. The dark haired Witcher takes a few hesitant steps towards her, unarmed hand open in invitation. Her gaze fixes on the hand, breath hitching as she takes a half step towards him. Just as she is about to touch his fingers, she jerks herself back as if burned, the expression melting off her face to leave a stony glare behind. When she speaks again her voice is flat, devoid of any emotion. 

“Lies. You can promise me nothing, Witcher. I’ve heard the rumours about your kind; monster slayers.” She spreads her arms wide, blades gleaming in the moonlight. “Have you come to kill me?”

Eskel’s intake of breath echoes in the sudden silence, the wind dying suddenly to leave the courtyard absolutely still. Every person present freezes, waiting for the tension that has descended to be broken. A growl starts low in Davethia’s chest, slowly rising in strength as her lover flinches at the sound. Her grip tightens on her swords before she launches a swift attack, Eskel backing away under the onslaught.

The ringing of steel on steel fills the courtyard as Geralt jumps up beside his brother, catching the female Witcher’s blade seconds before it bites into Eskel’s shoulder. A snarl grows on her face at the intrusion, Geralt meeting her glare resolutely. She kicks the dark haired Witcher hard in the chest, forcing the air from his lungs as he stumbles back, leaving her attention solely on her white haired opponent. 

The male Witchers are at a disadvantage, not wanting to harm Davethia, wanting only to help her. The female Witcher has no such restrictions; every blow she lands has the intent to kill behind it. The rest of the group gives way under her attack, spinning out of the way of a blow just as another comes to meet her. They can sense her frustration growing, causing her to make mistakes. She quickly receives a cut to her leg, blood welling out of it every time she puts weight on it, while blood drips down her cheek, a blow to the face splitting the skin there.

The male Witchers aren’t invincible from injury either, no one managing to evade harm. Davethia shoves Vesemir backwards, a sharp gesture sending a hail of sharp rocks in his direction. He leaps towards an old cart but doesn’t make it in time, leaving him with a series of small cuts on any exposed skin. The blood that drips down his fingers makes holding his sword difficult; the older Witcher retreating to the edge of the fight as he readjusts his grip.

Davethia turns her attention to Geralt, launching a series of calculated strikes towards the man as he parries her blows. He gives ground, leading her away from Vesemir so the Chief has a chance to regain his bearings. The woman seems to sense this, pausing in pursuit before she suddenly drops to her knees, slamming her hands against the ground. The courtyard seems to shake, knocking all of the Witchers off their feet. Geralt goes stumbling, hitting the courtyard wall hard. He drops to his knees as he clutches his shoulder, the arm having come out of its socket.

Jacek reengages, clinical strokes fending off Davethia for a time before he trips on a rut in the ground, the woman breaking through his defence to slide her sword through the space between his jerkin and his belt. The blonde haired Witcher backs away from the fight after that, hand coming up to press hard against his wound, blood quickly staining his shirt.

Eskel jumps in, moving slowly as he favours his ribs. The two lovers circle each other, the man swallowing hard at the blank look on his opposite’s face. Davethia smiles sweetly, the dark haired Witcher blanching at the action before she leaps at him, using the wind to boost her height to fall on him from above. He manages to get his sword above his head, pushing back against the woman as she turns her fall into a shoulder roll, popping to her feet a few meters away.

Redrid falls on her with a roar, Davethia dancing backwards to avoid his blow. He knows he needs to end this soon; Geralt and Jacek are all but out of the fight, Eskel won’t been able to hurt Davethia, and he needs to protect his Chief. The sooner the fight ends, the better it will be for everyone. The woman seems to have the opposite opinion, toying with her blades. She lazily knocks Redrid’s blows away, seeming to be delighted that someone is taking the offensive, rather than just defending.

That changes once he manages to score a hit, opening a shallow wound on her left arm. Her eyes narrow to slits, a low growl rumbling out of her chest as she increases the intensity of her attacks. Redrid falls back underneath her onslaught, Davethia driving him towards the other end of the courtyard, away from the rest of the Witchers. He feels panic blooming in his chest as he begins to falter, feeling his energy beginning to wane. The female Witcher seems to sense this, the speed of her attacks increasing as well. 

Distracted as he is by the increase of her attacks, he doesn’t notice that Davethia has been driving him towards an obstacle. As he takes a step backwards to evade a thrust, Redrid trips over Tadeusz’s arm, a cry escaping his lips as he falls, his blade flying out of startled fingers. The female Witcher is on him in a flash, sword driving towards his chest. He rolls to the side to evade the blade, the other Witcher shouting as she misses her strike.

He is on his feet a moment later, swaying backwards to evade the swinging of a sword that narrowly misses his neck. A high-pitched laugh leaves her throat as she follows him, second sword following suit to open a thin line of red across his stomach. He hisses at the feeling, the wound pulling as he twists away from her follow up strike. A pained shout to his left draws his attention, Vesemir having relocated Geralt’s shoulder while Davethia is distracted.

The lapse in concentration is all that the woman needs, driving her sword in a powerful thrust through Redrid’s chest. He gasps at the feeling, pain spreading through his body from the sharp point where the blade has pierced his chest. Davethia grins, pushing her sword in to the hilt as Redrid groans in pain. The female Witcher leans in and inhales, the sharp scent of vinegar pain and copper blood filling her nose. She lets out a soft sound, almost like a purr as the smell of pain overwhelms her senses.

Redrid slowly falls to his knees, Davethia going with him. She twists the sword just enough to release another wave of that vinegar pain scent, closing her eyes as she basks in the aroma. Opening her eyes, she fixes her golden orbs on the Witcher on her blade, ignoring the pounding feet approaching.

“Now you understand,” she whispers. “Now you understand my pain, my drive, my focus. Everything I do is for these moments, everything I do is to ensure the survival of my kind. You abandoned, sent us out on the path with no anchor. You didn’t listen, and now you pay for your insolence.”

Davethia releases her sword, allowing Redrid to fall backwards as she dives to the side, arm caught by Vesemir as she moves. He yanks her backwards, her other sword falling from her fingers as she’s caught by surprise. Jacek is waiting for her, wrapping his arms around her from behind. She struggles against him, cursing the blonde haired Witcher as he catches her wrists and presents them to Vesemir. The older Witcher grasps one and locks a dimeritium cuff, Davethia screaming at the action. Though she fights like a wild cat, the two Witchers are able to get the second cuff locked on. 

The woman saggs as the cuffs are secured, her skin paling rapidly. As she starts to collapse, Jacek secures her wrists to her chest while Vesemir pulls a vial out of his pocket. Davethia’s eyes widen as he uncorks it, her struggles going wild as she fights to free herself. Her screams increase in volume before cutting off entirely as the eldest Witcher moves towards her, the woman closing her mouth tightly in response. Geralt holds Eskel back as he fights to get to his lover, every fibre of his being screaming at the pain from his partner. 

Vesemir clamps a hand over her nose and mouth, cutting off her air as Davethia struggles to breath. Her screaming lungs finally force her to open her mouth, the Witcher in front of her grasping her jaw in one hand as the other pours the sleeping potion onto her tongue. Vesemir forces her mouth closed before holding it shut once more, clamping his hand back over her nose as he waits for her to swallow. Jacek tightens his grip as she struggles, cursing as she slams her head against his nose in an effort to free herself. The Chief of the Witchers moves with her, not letting her get any air.

Davethia finally swallows the potion, a betrayed look filling her eyes as she ceases struggling. She stares at Vesemir as they both ignore the shouts and screams coming from Eskel as he pleads with Geralt to let him go, to let him help her. She maintains that eye contact until her eyelids flutter closed and her body collapses. Geralt finally releases his brother and he races for his lover, gathering her limp body into his arms. He stares at her face, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear as before using his sleeve to wipe the excess blood from her cheek.

Leaving Eskel to care for Davethia, Vesemir and Geralt move to Redrid’s body, gently closing his eyes and gathering him up while Jacek goes to Tadeusz. Gently taking the body outside of the castle, Vesemir starts to prepare his brother for the funeral pyre as Geralt goes to look for wood. Jacek joins him after a short time, carefully adjusting his lover alongside the training master. Geralt is quick to return and drop off a load of wood before heading back out.

It is almost dawn by the time the funeral pyres are ready; Jacek tying Tadeusz’s medallion around his own neck as Vesemir takes Redrid’s. The four remaining Witchers stand silently around the pyres, watching as the flames lick high into the sky before slowly dying to embers. It is only once the flames have extinguished themselves that they mount their horses. Most of the gear is loaded onto Redrid’s larger horse while they tie Davethia onto Tadeusz’s. Eskel lets Geralt take the lead reins of her horse so that he can ride beside her, sad gaze fixed on her limp form.

Without having to avoid villages and chase down dead ends, the small party makes it back to Kaer Morhen in five days. It is a somber arrival, a heavy grief settling over the fortress at the loss of three brothers in three weeks. The arrival of Davethia doesn’t help the mood; her screams and cries filling the dungeons below the keep. They leave the dimeritium cuffs on, not wanting to chance the female Witcher escaping. The smell of blood becomes a common scent, the woman aggravating her wrists in an effort to escape until they are dripping blood.

She prowls the length of her cell, growling at anyone who comes near her as madness flashed in her eyes. She doesn’t eat, she doesn’t talk, she just growls and screams at anyone who interrupted her. The dimeritium cuffs lock her into one form and blocked her chaos, leaving her defenceless. 

Alek and Kamil are unable to find anything in the history books or trial books that led to madness like this; most initiates died before descending into madness, and those that did, didn’t survive long after that.

Eskel often visits Davethia, sitting outside of her cell while she hisses and spits at him. She has moments of lucidness where she will recognize the Witcher, even rarer were the moments where she will speak. Today is one of such moments.

“Eskel, please, I don’t know what’s happening to me.” Davethia’s pleading tone fills the silence that had come as she slowly calmed.

He sits at her bars, hand wrapped around the iron posts. “I know, love, I know. We’re going to find out what’s happening, we’re going to fix you.”

“No, Eskel,” she whispers quietly, tears filling her golden eyes. “I can’t be fixed, I can feel the darkness, it’s waiting for me to fall again. You have to kill me, before I hurt anyone else.”

The dark haired Witcher visibly recoils at her words as if struck. “Davethia,  _ no _ . You can’t ask me to do that. We’re going to fix this, whatever is happening to you.”

The tears overflow, leaving clean streaks in the dirt that covers her face. “Please, you have to promise me, Eskel.  _ I can’t hurt anyone else _ . I don’t want this power if I only use it to kill.”

“Davethia, I-” The man cuts himself off as her face changes, the pleading expression dropping as it is replaced with something venomous.

“Go away,  _ monster _ ,” she spits, madness rolling into her eyes. Eskel’s posture slumps at the change, the Witcher heaving himself to his feet as she continues ranting behind him. Geralt is waiting for him at the entrance to the hallway, vibrating with tension. The silver haired Witcher’s face falls as he sess his brother’s posture.

“She’s gone again?” Geralt has been privy to Davethia’s coming and going madness. Eskel seems to flinch at the question, face clouded with grief.

“She asked me to kill her.” Eskel’s voice is almost a whisper as he relays his lover’s request. The other Witcher freezes at the words, face filled with horror. He turns to look at the other fully, hand reaching out to grasp his brother’s shoulder.

“Eskel, I’m so sorry.” Geralt swallows hard, searching his brother’s face for some inkling of hope. “We’ll figure something out, we will.”

“What if we don’t?” Eskel’s breath hitches as he asks the question, Geralt unable to answer. The two brothers make their way out of the dungeons, the dark haired Witcher leaning on the other for support.

**~*~*~*~**

Vesemir paces in his study, hands locked behind his back as he waits for his guest. He stops in his tracks as a glowing circle appears in the air before a dark haired woman in dark teal robes steps through.

“Tissai,” he greets the woman, stepping forward to give a low bow over her hand. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Of course, Vesemir. Now what is this illness you spoke about in your letter? I couldn’t make sense of it.” The woman examines him with a piercing gaze, her face settling into a professional mask.

Vesemir hesitates briefly before shaking his head. “Better if I just show you. Follow me, Rectoress.” 

He quickly leads the mage into the dungeons, stopping just before the hallway that leads to Davethia’s cell. He can hear the woman shrieking down the hallway, her rant about the monsters of humankind bouncing off of the stone. He sees realization dawn on Tissai’s face as she pieces together the puzzle, expression turning dark.

“There have been reports of shapeshifting creatures slaughtering villages within the last year,” Vesemir starts, voice breaking slightly before he finds the words. “Our sisters are able to shapeshift; they reacted differently to the trials than we did. Ehlad was attacked by another Witcher, he said she had started a rampage on a village before he intervened. He passed away a few weeks ago, just as the sister who attacked him did, we believe.”

He shakes his head before swallowing harshly as pain flickers over his face. “The Witcher in the cell is Davethia, she has also attacked villages, or so she said. We brought her home about a week ago, but haven’t been able to get through to her. She’s gone mad but has bouts of sanity, she always asks us to  _ kill _ her when she does. I can’t- we can’t-”

He swallows again, fist clenching at his pain. “Please help her, Tissai, we will pay whatever fee you deem appropriate. But we can’t lose them.”

The Rectoress nods, “I will do my best to find the source of their ailment, Vesemir. We can discuss my fee afterwards.”

She makes her way down the hallway to stop in front of the cell, regarding the woman inside. The Witcher has come to the front of the cell, examining the mage in front of her with her piercing golden gaze. She is dressed in old armour, the wear clear on the leather. Her hair looks as if it has been dipped in blood, the bottom stained red. The mage’s eyes flicker to the dimeritium cuffs locked onto her wrists.  _ What were these women capable of? _

“Have you come to kill me?” Tissai starts at the question, horror filling her. She knows Vesemir had been concerned, but she hadn’t realized it was this bad. The fact that the Witcher even asked the question meant she doesn’t recognize her affiliation with the School of Wolves.

“No, I haven’t come to kill you.” The older woman answers, slowly reaching out with her magical senses. “I’ve come to see if I can help you.”

The Witcher’s head tilts at that, eyes going blank for a moment. Her voice goes flat. “I don’t need any help.”

“And why would that be? Your brothers seem to think you do.” Tissai waves a hand to conjure a wooden chair, placing it in front of the cell before she settles into it. 

The Witcher blanches at her question before quickly concealing her reaction. She observes Tissai for several minutes, the mage sitting through the examination. Davethia seems to nod to herself before lowering her body to the floor, arranging her limbs into a cross-legged position.

“My brothers don’t understand my mission,” she starts slowly, eyes fixed on the mage. “We are monster hunters, yes, but we are hunting the wrong monsters. It’s the humans that are a plague upon the Continent, destroying anything they touch. Those are the monsters we must kill. But they don’t understand that, they haven’t reached enlightenment.”

She pauses, seeming to gaze off into the distance as if she is listening to a voice only she can hear. “They will either achieve enlightenment with us or they will die with the humans.”

Her focus latches back onto Tissai, eyes seeming to glow as a vicious snarl comes over her face. “Just as you will.”

As the words leave her mouth she launches herself at the bars, growling and hissing as she claws at them. Blood stains her skin as her nails tear, the iron bars unforgiving. 

Tissai closes her eyes, reaching out with her senses to feel an unforgiving presence centered on the Witcher. She recoils as it spots her, lashing out with a psychic blow. She throws mental shields up, her whole body flinching as she blocks the strike. It presses the attack, fighting hard to get beneath her shields. 

She gasps as it rails against her, fingers digging into the wooden, blood staining the wood as her fingernails break. She pushes back against the presence, searching for its source. She battles hard, strengthening her shields as she gets closer to the middle of the maelstrom of darkness. As she reaches the eye of the hurricane, she pushes outwards; forcing order upon the chaos so she can observe it.

As she brings the power to heel, she can see a young girl standing in the middle, blue eyes and blonde hair decorating a familiar face.  _ Davethia _ . She is wrapped in vines, strands of darkness seeming to sprout from her skin. In the very centre of her chest sits a dark stain from which all dark veins sprouted. The girl seems to lock eyes with Tissaia, a dark presence coming to bear down on her, pressing her into the ground. She fights for breath, unable to draw air underneath the presence, her mind being shattered below the weight.

She hears a shout followed by a loud sound, opening her eyes to see Vesemir standing in front of her, hand raised. Davethia is slumped against the back wall of the cell, eyes hazy. The man helps her up, supporting some of her weight as he pulls her down the hallway and out of range of attack.

_ Dear gods, what was that? I haven’t felt anything like it; the only similar thing close was dark magic. But Witchers didn’t use dark magic, that couldn’t be it. Something is festering in that poor girl, and I don’t know what it is or how to deal with it. _

“Are you okay, Tissai?” Vesemir’s urgent voice breaks through her reverie. She opens her eyes to see the Witcher staring at her in concern. She looks down at her hands and clenches them into fists, to hide the shaking.

“I am fine, Vesemir,” she replies as she fights to control the tremor in her voice. “But I fear your sisters may not be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are going to be sporadic for the next little while. Between schools reopening and having to go back to work there, and working full time at my summer job, and the disaster that Covid is, my stress levels have sky rocketed while my motivation levels have plummeted. I am hoping come September, once I have a bit more of a normal routine going I will have more time and motivation to write, but I don't want to promise anything. I will be finishing this series, it might just take a little longer than I originally anticipated!
> 
> As always, come yell at me on tumblr! @whitewolfandthefox


	4. An Impossible Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tissai has made a startling discovery about the nature of the female Witcher’s madness. The council must make an impossible decision in light of this new information.

The Mage and the Witcher move quickly to Vesemir’s study, Tissai falling into a chair as soon as they reach the room. She takes the drink the Witcher hands to her and sips at the liquid, strength seeping back into her limbs. As she finishes, she places the cup on the table next to her before she raises her gaze to meet Vesemir’s. His expression betrays the worry and heartache he feels for his charges.

“I fear this is more than either you or I can handle, Vesemir,” Tissai starts, gaze lowering back to the floor. “The madness starts deep within her core and has wound itself into every inch of her being. I don’t know that I can pull it out of her, and even if I could, I don’t know that I could survive it.”

Vesemir sighs as he drops into his chair, head in his hands. “This madness, is it magical, physical? What does it stem from?”

“I don’t know,” Tissai answers, looking up at the Witcher. “But it’s a part of her, I don’t think I can separate it from her without killing her, and I wasn’t able to see where it stemmed from, other than a dark stain on her chest.”

“We never knew enough about them, never knew how different they were from us,” Vesemir murmurs absently. “When a girl underwent the trials, she absorbed the power rather than fighting it like the boys did. It made them different, gave them other magic. But we never saw this happen.”

Tissai nods slowly. “And it might be the absorption of the power that brought on these changes, it might be too much for them to handle after an extended period of time, or maybe an increased use. These women live and breathe chaos, they’re a part of it. I just harness it, I don’t use it like they do.”

She sighs, sitting back in her chair. “Their control of their form and the use of the elements is the likely cause, it's a different magic than we normally see. I don’t know if not using their magic would lessen the effect, but Davethia hasn’t shown any change since you’ve had her, has she?” At the negative affirmation she nods, continuing. “I don’t know what’s causing the madness, but it’s powerful. Something like I’ve never experienced before.”

“What do you mean?” Vesemir asks, looking up at the Mage with a frown.

“It felt like the entire weight of Aretuza was sitting on my shoulders when her spirit focused on me. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, I could do nothing until you intervened. If that is what its gaze felt like when it wasn’t actively trying to kill me, I can’t imagine what it would do if I was trying to pull it from her consciousness.” She swallows harshly at the look of devastation that covers Vesemir’s face. “I’m so sorry, old friend.”

Vesemir drags a hand over his face before he turns away, gaze locking on the window but not seeing anything. “So you’re telling me there’s nothing you can do- we can do, to help those poor girls.”

Tissai’s looks away from the Witcher, a lump forming in her throat at the words. She opens her mouth to respond before her voice fails. She swallows again to force the blockage down, heart sinking with the feeling.

“Yes,” she manages to whisper. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. It’s too deep, Vesemir, it’s a part of their consciousness. If I did separate it, I fear she would go mad or she wouldn’t survive the procedure. I’m sorry.”

Vesemir slumps onto the window as the Mage finishes speaking, defeat coursing through his body at her words. 

“What do we do?” he manages to choke out.  _ Please let me save her. Let me save all of them. She’s the only thing that kept me going back then. _

“I don’t know,” Tissai answers, regret clear in her voice. “I’m so sorry, Vesemir. I’ll do my own research and let you know if I find anything.” 

She stands and makes her way over to the old wolf, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly. “Good luck,” she says quietly before turning and opening a portal back to Aretuza.

Vesemir drops his head back in his hands, breath shaky as he tries desperately to think of a solution, any solution, other than the impossible one he can see in front of him.  _ I have to save her. _

**~*~*~*~**

Davethia snarls as she paces in her cell. She can smell the fear and desperation, rust and carrion filtering through the hallways. Something deep inside her slowly uncurls, a snake lifting its head to scent the air.  _ It’s time _ .

She grabs her thumb, stifling a groan as she dislocates it and slides her hand out of the dimeritium cuff. She pops the joint back into place and shakes her hand, accelerated healing quickly smoothing away any pain. She does the same with her other hand, tipping her head back with a gasp as she feels her magic rush back in.  _ It’s time _ .

Davethia moves over to the door of her cell, sending a burst of magic through the lock that causes the door to fly open and slam against the wall. She laughs, a high cruel sound as she steps out of the room and listens to the sound of running feet that appear after the small explosion.

Another Witcher appears in the entrance to the hallway, his face paling rapidly. “Get back in your cell,” he demands in a firm voice, one hand reaching for the blade he wears over his shoulder.

“No,” Davethia purrs, slinking towards the Witcher, savouring the rust smell of fear that quickly envelops the space. “I don’t think I will.”

She continues advancing towards the Witcher, anticipation curling in her chest. Indecision is clear on the Witcher’s face before it hardens, the scent of fear dissipating slightly. He rushes her, sword lifting to try and slam the hilt against her head.  _ Predictable. _ Davethia snarls at the move, disappointment filling her at the limited creativity of the blow.  _ And here I thought this might be a challenge _ .

She ducks under the blow and quickly incapacitates the Witcher, a sharp blow to his temple dropping him with blank eyes. Davethia strips the man of his equipment, slinging the sheathes over her shoulder as she places the steel sword back in its place next to the silver one. She disregards the armour, knowing it will be too big for her as she makes her way out of the basement, heading for the fresh air she can smell.

She bursts out into the open, cutting down an unsuspecting Witcher standing in the courtyard she’s emerged into. Shouts rise as the courtyard descends into chaos, older men sheltering the initiates as they push them towards safety. She injures another Witcher before they manage to get their bearings. Adrenaline sings through her veins at the bitter smell of copper blood that slowly fills the courtyard, blood staining the stones beneath her feet.

She laughs again, a cruel sound that bounces off the walls as she sets her feet, waiting for the Witchers to attack.

**~*~*~*~**

“Eskel,” Cristian yells, running through the halls towards the darker haired Witcher. “Eskel!”

The Witcher in question stops to look at his sparring partner, confusion on his face. “What the fuck is going on, Cristian? Did the initiates pull a prank or something?”

“No,” Cristian answers, trying to catch his breath. “It’s Davethia. She got out and is attacking anyone she sees.”

Eskel freezes in horror at the statement, panic and fear filling his chest.

“I need to find her,” Eskel says frantically, hearing the shouts that bounce around the stone walls. “We just need to get another pair of dimeritium cuffs on her, and Vesemir will figure something out. I know he will.”

“We can’t take her down, Eskel,” Cristian pants, regret filling his chest. “She destroyed the rest of the cuffs, it was the first thing she did when she escaped. There’s only one way to stop her.”

Eskel stares at him in horror as the realization of what they have to do dawns on him. The other Witcher recognizes Eskel’s thought process, a grave look covering his own face. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”   
  
Eskel nods before gripping his sword tightly, his fingers protesting the strength as his hilt digs into them. “Okay,” he whispers, agony splitting his chest in two.

The pair follow the shouts to the courtyard, Cristian darting ahead to glance through the doorway. “She’s in there and she’s managed to find two swords. We have to take her down Eskel, there’s quite a few people injured.”

Eskel nods, setting his face as he hardens his breaking heart. “Let’s go.”

The two enter the courtyard to find Davethia pulling her blade out of Luca’s chest, the Witcher’s eyes slipping closed as he falls to the ground, chest still. She turns to face her new opponents, a savage, wild grin on her face. “Oh, darling, it’s so good to see you again.”

Eskel ignores the pain that splits his heart in two at the words. “Davethia, you need to stop this,” he says firmly. He grips his sword tightly, advancing on his lover.

The female Witcher laughs, the harsh sound bouncing around the space. “No,” her face drops into a cruel expression as she turns to meet Cristian’s blade, a snarl leaving her lips.

  
Eskel falls on her from behind, a quick flurry of strikes exchanged between the three opponents. Cristian falls back with a shout, clutching his forearm where Davethia bit him, her teeth breaking the skin. She growls low in her chest as she follows him, trying to press him with a series of lightning fast blows. Eskel jumps into the fray, trying to distract her and draw her away from his fighting partner to give him a chance to breathe. Davethia catches on and spins away, snarling as she moves.

“You don’t understand,” she spits, madness flaring in her eyes. “They’re a scourge on the Continent, they need to be eliminated. They’re killing everything, they’re the monsters.”   
  
“Davethia, no,” Eskel pleads desperately. “We are meant to protect the humans, not exterminate them. Please, come back to me. I love you.”

He receives a low growl in response, Davethia swiping at him with her sword. He catches her blade and shoves her back, twisting his own in an effort to disarm her. The steel sword goes flying from her fingers, an angry shriek falling from her lips as she ducks, slamming her hand into the ground to send Eskel and Cristian flying.    
  


“Murderers!” she cries. “They’re a blight, an infection! The Continent won’t survive! We have to kill them all.”

She prowls the edge of the courtyard, swiping at Cristian as he advances towards her, quickly being shoved back under the onslaught. The male Witcher retreats back to stand next to Eskel, shaking his hand to try to disperse the blood that stains his skin as it runs down his arm.

Tears run down Eskel’s face as he stares down at his lover, seeing the madness swimming behind her eyes. The day has been full of blood and death, the escaped Witcher killing anyone who dares stand in her path. Davethia hisses at him, blood dripping down her chin from where she had bit Cristain earlier. She holds her sword loosely, the blade bathed crimson from her attacks on the other Witchers. The two men step closer together and exchange a heartbroken glance with each other before they launch a flurry of strikes, beating the female Witcher back under their onslaught. She cries out as Eskel’s blade opens a long gash across her back, his heart breaking at the sound. Her eyes clear briefly, a look of horror coming over her face.

“Please Eskel, you have to kill me,” she begs, tears running down her face. “I can’t control it, please, you have to help me.”

Eskel freezes at her words as hope flared in his chest at the sudden departure of insanity. “No, we can help you. Please, Davethia, just come with us and we can figure something out.”

She pauses, as if at war with herself before the desperate expression drops from her face. She snarls at him, a low growl rumbling out of her chest before she launches herself at him, Eskel only just manages to get his blade up in time to catch hers. He searches her eyes, the hope from earlier dying in his chest as he finds no trace of the woman he had grown up with. “Then you’ll suffer with the rest of humanity.”

He pushes against her blade, trying to keep her distracted as Cristian moves into position behind her. He leans backwards, slamming a foot into her middle to force her backwards; Cristian’s sword coming up to pierce through her back at the motion. She gasps, the air leaving her lungs in a rush as the point of the sword emerges from the middle of her chest. Her own sword drops from her fingers as her hand spasms. Eskel rushes forwards, supporting her body as his counterpart pulls his blade out, a sorrowful look on his face. 

Eskel lifts Davethia into his arms and pushes her hair back from her face before he slowly lowers the two of them to the ground. She smiles up at him, clarity filtering back into her eyes. Her mouth forms the words ‘ _ thank you _ ’ as life drains from her face. He pushes his forehead into her neck and clutches the woman he loved to his chest as sobs burst from him. A single tear trails down Cristian’s cheek as heartbreak flares in his chest before he plants his feet; standing guard over his friend as he mourns.

**~*~*~*~**

There is yet another funeral pyre that burns that night, a somber silence hanging over the courtyard. This time there are no stories told, no celebration of Davethia’s life, her death stained with the information that has come to light. Once the flames have burnt to embers, the gathered Witchers slipped away, each to deal with his own grief the only way they know how.

The next morning sees the senior council gathering once more, Redrid’s chair a stark reminder of what is at stake. Vesemir is pale, slumping in his chair having found no other solution to the problem before to them. It is several minutes before he breaks the silence stretching tight over the room.

“There is nothing to be done for their madness,” his voice is dull, devoid of emotion as he speaks, the rest of the room jumping at their Chief’s voice. “Tissai examined Davethia before she- a few days ago. She said their magic has spoiled, that the madness stems from their own minds, not an outside source.”

“So now what?” Natan speaks next, grief clear in his voice. “How do we fix this? How do we help them?”

“We don’t,” Vesemir answers harshly. “The madness is so deeply interwoven into their magic, into their souls, that trying to remove it will kill them. We’re faced with an impossible choice.”

The room falls silent at the statement, a heavy tension settling on the room. Vesemir stays seated as the rest of the council stands and leaves the room. Natan stops next to the Chief’s chair, dropping a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll put together a plan and bring it to you, but we’ll need your final approval. I’m sorry, my friend.”   
  
The training master hesitates for a moment before asking the question they’ve all been avoiding since finding Davethia. “Have you heard from Leto?”

Vesemir shakes his head in response, face falling further. “No,” he answers, voice hoarse. Natan nods wordlessly, squeezing Vesemir’s shoulder in comfort before leaving the Witcher to his grief.

**~*~*~*~**

“Eskel,” Geralt’s voice is soft, insistent, as he tries to pull the other Witcher from his reverie. The dark-haired man looks up with dead eyes, tear tracks staining his cheeks. “You need to eat, Eskel.”

Geralt pushes a roll into Eskel’s hands, a cup of water in his other.  _ Please eat. We can’t lose another brother. Please Eskel, please. _

The dark-haired Witcher brings the roll to his mouth to take a bite, movements mechanical. He finishes the bread and drinks the water, making no other movement to acknowledge his brother’s presence.

“Please Eskel,” Geralt pleads. “Say something. We can’t lose you, too. Please.”

“She’s gone,” Eskel’s voice is hoarse, broken, from screaming and crying in grief from the loss of Davethia. “We were bonded, she was my other half. And she’s gone. I couldn’t do anything to help her.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Eskel,” Geralt tells the other Witcher, trying to be soft but insistent. “There was nothing you could have done, anyone could have done. Tissai came and examined her, if she couldn’t do anything, what else do you think we could have done?”

“If she couldn’t do anything for Dav- Davethia, what is going to happen to the rest of our sisters?” Eskel asks in a hopeless voice, looking up at Geralt for the first time since the silver haired Witcher approached him.

Geralt stares back, at a loss for words.  _ Is this going to happen to all of them? To all of our sisters? It can’t. _ He settles himself next to Eskel, trying to provide silent support to his brother in his grief.

**~*~*~*~**

The senior council gathers once more, a somber silence sitting over the room. Vesemir looks through the papers Natan has brought him, grief and rage bubbling filling his chest until he can’t take it anymore. He grabs the inkwell to his right, turning and throwing it against the wall to watch as it smashes and the glass falls to the floor, his chest heaving. “How can you stand there and pretend this isn’t happening?” His voice is low, full of anger and pain.

“We’re not, Vesemir,” Natan tries to calm the other Witcher. “But what other option do we have? You know we walk the Path, and this is where it has taken us.”   
  


“The Path?” Vesemir turns to stare at Natan incredulously. “The Path has brought us to a point where we have to put our sisters down like rabid dogs?” 

He points at the document that has a list of brothers assigned to tracking down and killing their sisters. “I understand we have to do this, but don’t say it is because of the Path. This is not the Path, this is slaughter.”

Silence falls over the room once more, no one able to meet Vesemir’s eyes. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “But we must do it for the sake of humanity. Alright, give out the assignments in the morning, I want to get this over as soon as possible.”

He goes to leave the room, Natan’s voice stopping him. “What about Leto? I didn’t assign anyone to that search.”

“I’ll do it,” Vesemir answers quietly, agony clear in his voice. “I’ll find Leto.”

Tears run down his face as he leaves the room, heart torn in two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait, folks! I am hoping to be a little more consistent now that school is starting and I have a bit more of a schedule to follow. They probably won't be every week, but I'm hoping to not have months in between each chapter. As always, feedback and kudos are always appreciated, and you are welcome to come yell at me on tumblr! @whitewolfandthefox


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